Surely when great waters rise, they will not come near.
How oft my soul-wrought bark would drift
But for the gales that test
How oft my own decrees would shift
From paths of righteousness
Without plans dismayed and upset
How oft, how oft I would forget
Goodness and mercy’s higher ways
To satisfy my numbered days
How oft the gods of greed would rule
Desires of the heart
How oft love would seem cold and cruel
By what facades impart
Without God’s Word to show the way
How oft, how oft I would fall prey
To doubt and dread’s defenseless street
Without His lamp to guide my feet
How oft I could not bear the weight
Of care that love bestows
But for the vision of a gate
That beyond death’s strait glows
Without the anchor of sure hope
How oft, how oft, I could not cope
And oh, how oft I would ignore
The Hand that draws my bark to shore
© Janet Martin
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